When solitary am I one
or sum of all the parts I've known
in voice, in heat, in touch, in song
is all a composite in me?
When broken are our strings attached
or frayed and thrown against the wall
can I be trusted with your heart
if you're not conscious to assist?
When confronted with wondrous hopes
are our eyes opened or dormant
and when the images present
are they but film against eyelids?
What might I have to deal with loss
when such is more than I had gained
what strength I have to maintain ties
when pull is of continuum?
And in that last hour will I be;
cease to think, and therefore not be
or will I find in circumstance
that light has persisted through muck?
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